What I am trying to say is that heroin is a person that I used to know.

This won't be a full on post, I don't think. I am just thinking about certain things today..and don't really have much of a story to tell. I have always been an avid dreamer and my dreams invoke certain thoughts and feelings. Like music. Most people are like that though, are reminded of things through music...scenery..smells, etc. I read somewhere that your sense of smell is responsible for the most heightened sense of memory recall (I am not really sure how to say that - hope you get it).

Certain songs always remind me of heroin. "Dead Flowers" by the Rolling Stones (weird, since it has obvious references to heroin) and "Time Has Told Me" by Nick Drake. Other songs remind me too..but it's these two especially.

Anyway..what I was thinking about today is something I think about not as often as I used to, but often enough - especially after I have certain, themed dreams.

My point is that if I am to be honest, I miss heroin. I do, and I don't think that it is bad to admit that. I don't CRAVE heroin, understand that, but I miss it all the same. I miss it like I miss my ex-boyfriend that I was with when I first began using (heroin) seriously (I used many other intoxicants for years prior, heroin included).

I miss heroin like I miss him. I dream about him all the time, about as often as I have using dreams (not all the time..but it is recurring). I dream that I am so happy that I have found him and that it is like no time has passed (but it has) and the love is there. We did love each other, not in a healthy way of course, but still it was love. I have mentioned this to friends before and the ones that witnessed that relationship are not very understanding.

I wonder where he is now. I have done a bit of research but have found nothing. I wonder if he is somewhere nearby? Is he happy? Is he dead? Probably not. Jail? Nah...With another woman? Most likely, it has been so many years. He may have a new girlfriend, showing her his undying love through bouts of adoration mixed with physical and mental torture. Of course it isn't wasn't all like that but I am positive that is how it would be for him and any female since myself. I was there, I lived it, I know him.

You cannot possibly understand what I am trying to say here. One could read and think what the hell what I miss this guy for? I don't mention any of the good things about him, but he knew me like no one else. Can you even know what I mean? Maybe. Maybe not.

Him and heroin...are like "this" in me. F*ck, I miss him. But I live without him and I am happy all the same. It is just when I have one of those dreams...and my dreams of him are much more painful than my ones of heroin.

Why I am telling you this? Why, considering it really has nothing to do with the topic that my blog is actually supposed to be about? I dunno - but I had to get it out. I am just recognizing a feeling that I am experiencing.

One of my old counsellors used to tell me that my harboring feelings for him was like holding on to old stuff, when I need to get new stuff. I don't know what it is going to take...but it hasn't happened yet even though my life is so different now. Of course, I forgive my ex...we were both sick people. Sick in different ways. My illness is treatable..his, not so much.

He occupies a space in me, I guess. Like heroin. Heroin sucks, and I know that. It isn't even fun - and I don't have any desire to do it but I miss blank so much it hurts sometimes. Very irrational, I know.

Anyways, my next post will be back on topic. Have a pleasing afternoon.

He said he was a professional gambler....

Does it get redundant when you tune in to the new post and it starts out "it was late on a Friday night..."? Because honestly, unless otherwise specified, my memory makes me FEEL like most of the stories I tell have taken place on Friday (or weekend nights). But not this one....this one tells of a night..and it was late..but I am almost positive it was a Wednesday. Or maybe a Thursday.

For some weird reason I can even remember what I was wearing that night. No, not your usual street sex attire....(I used to see girls in bikini tops in the winter...when I asked one girl about it, she said she just got used to the cold. In the winter I was dressed complete in: winter coat, scarf, toque, mitts - NOT GLOVES - I am not a glove person, never have been. I remember this girl, Tamara used to wear this bunny outfit that looked like a costume from"The Shining". I may have mentioned her before. I am almost positive she must be dead now. Poor Tamara, she was so awesome in her dedicated creepiness. Who knows though - maybe she got out, like me...but I doubt it.)

ANYWAYS, I remember that I was wearing a long sleeved t-shirt under a short sleeved t-shirt, jeans and sneakers. I remember this because earlier that night I had been "hired" (I need to check my thesaurus for a different word) by this Chinese guy Mike. Mike was very tiny and nice, but super perverse and wouldn't even look at me during the act. I remember him asking me shyly one day if it bothered me if he looked at Internet porn of ethnic women w/ huge boobs taking it in the "second vagina" (that is the anus, in case you hadn't figured it out). Like as if I cared what the hell he looked at as long as it got him finished sooner. It was still funny that he asked my permission. I had been at Mike's house that afternoon and I guess I had fallen asleep after our rendezvous and he had washed and dried my clothes for me before I woke up. It is this memory that had provided me with all these unnecessary details like what I was wearing this particular evening. These unnecessary details I am now sharing with you.

Like I said it was late, like maybe 3 am at least. I had just gotten ripped off by this guy Spider. I had like $100 and gave him $40 for dope, $30 for me - $10 for him. He gave me something but it wasn't heroin. Wasn't a big deal though - he was shifty, I should have known better and I had lots more money. He ended up getting me back though, one welfare day - and again our "friendship" was harmoniously balanced.

I was walking back up Hastings with some REAL dope in my pocket and this snazzy, black car pulled over. Bold a sh*t right on Hastings, right by the Police station...the passenger window came down and there was a very handsome Black man asking me to join him in his car. I got in and immediately his main concern was that I was underage. HA, as if - I must have been 26, but I was super skinny and since pig tails was my usual hairstyle..I guess I can understand it??. I found I made more money with pigtails. Men are so easy...sigh. Beyond that, he just wanted me to go with me to his house - as his wife and children were out of town (bit of a scum bag) - and do...what we do. Fine- verbal agreement made- and travelling to his pad ensues. On the way to his house is when he told me he was a professional gambler. Whatever that is..I mean, I KNOW what that is but I had never met a professional gambler before. Like a successful, professional gambler. Gambling addicts sure, but not anyone that was providing a life for themselves and their families through playing poker (which was his game). He had a wickedly nice car, a super nice condo...expensive furniture...and all that.

When we got to his place, the first order of business was that I had to have a shower. He was very concerned about my cleanliness....and being safe. Which seems totally ridiculous for someone that just brought me to his HOUSE..(one of the top five things to never do with a prostitute)..but whatever. The transaction was completed in the physical sense..but at the end, catastrophe. The condom had broken. He spazzed, obviously. Me? Not so much.

He was very upset, asking me over and over if I was clean, if I had AIDS or any other STD's. I told him the truth, I told him no, I didn't have anything. As far as I knew I didn't have anything. Of course I hadn't been tested in at least 2 years...so as far as the most recent information that I had been made aware of..I was clean. My telling him this was no comfort to him.

Right before he placed me in a cab headed back towards downtown he asked me if I would go and get an HIV test done. I said sure but told him that it was going to take at least 2 weeks for the results to come back and he was fine with that. He said if I went and did the test and called him after, he would give me a hundred bucks. Like I said he was very, very worried. He told me that until he heard from me and I told/showed him proof (photocopy of lab results, I guess) that I was HIV negative, he would be stressing big time. He also said that if he didn't hear from me that he would assume the worst.

So, he wrote his info on a piece of paper : Ray Allen, 604-WHT-EVER (obviously the number escapes me. I am sharing his name because that name isn't a particularly memorable one and even if he DID somehow get connected by the details I have included here, then so be it. I have come clean on my side and now it is your turn to be a man, Ray). But I never called him...nope, didn't.

The reason I still remember this and feel bad about it is because I DO know how stressful and all consuming it can be when you realize that you have put yourself at risk for contracting the HIV virus (I mean how concerning it is for the average citizen. Obviously, I put myself at risk continuously while on the street - but just didn't think about it). It isn't cool...it is ALL you can think about and it sucks. No sleeping, no eating, lots of bitterness, you already have plans about how you would tell your family, etc.

I never called him even knowing that he would most likely be vomiting with worry because of it. My complete lack of caring, plus my tendency to be totally unreliable and trustworthy, oh and don't forget my laziness and overwhelming urge to get high, led me to not call him. I knew I wasn't going to call him right when I was telling him I would call him. He wasn't going to get to get his answer in a "quick" ten or so days...he would have to wait the entire "gestation" period (or whatever it is called)...6 months (plus?) was the usual.....enough time to give him an ulcer.

But now you know, Ray Allen, the professional gambler. I am HIV negative....sorry it took so long....we good now?

Say hi to our wife and tell her she has a lovely home.

Freddy and Cinnamon

It was a Sunday. Early afternoon..late morning - ish. I may have mentioned in previous posts that Sunday can be a bad day. Don't get me wrong, there are always guys out looking for "girls" but it can be a bad day. Bad day for dope buying too. Bad day to be dope sick, like I was, that Sunday. (As an aside, I will say that EVERY DAY is a bad day to be dope sick.)

I was walking around but basically staying close to the funeral home that was on Dunlevy at Cordova. I had this one girl that has jacked me up more than once bugging me and on top of being sick as a mother f*cker none of my regulars where out looking. So when this black guy (I am only using the term "black" as a descriptive term..I am sure other aspects of my blog are much more offensive than this) pulled up in his teal green family wagon and motioned to me, I was at the window in seconds. He had a proposition for me (don't they all?). Normally, the best kind of date when one is dope sick or is in need, is one close to the red zone and quick. Then the time to get "better" is sooner, obviously. This was not one of those dates - unfortunately he wanted me to go to his house with him and videotape me getting myself off.

SIGH. Masturbating was the last thing I felt like doing. I had been paid to do that before and it isn't an odd request. I remember one time getting picked up by these two young guys whose girlfriend's were in Greece or something and they paid me to do this for them because their girlfriends would not. I wasn't sick that night and it was easy money. THEY don't know if you get off or not - as long as they THINK you do then no harm done. They were hot too, by the way.

But anyways, this Sunday I WAS sick and the last thing I wanted to do was go far from the dope zone but I was desperate. Some one could ask me in a concerned tone "you went to their house? Weren't you worried that they could harm you? Since it is in their environment, etc?" Well, the answer is no. Danger is a part of the game. I wouldn't always go to some guy's houses but it happened.

As I was so unbelievably sick I agreed. I am not going to disclose the amount of money discussed but it wasn't much. His lucky day I guess. So, I get in his car and he introduces himself as we drive to his house. His name was Freddy, he wore a golf type hat and had a small white (yes, in the picture the dog is black - newsflash - that picture isn't him - it is just a pic of a dog and a black guy), rat like dog on his lap. The dog was Cinnamon.

I think that one of the worst types of dates a drug addicted prostitute can get is one that doesn't give a shit about her physical state. That may sound ridiculous because a regular person would think that none of these guys care about a girl's well being. There are those that do though. They at least give you a bit of money to get well first but there are the ones that enjoy the fact that you are sweating and uncomfortable and squirming and desperate and all that. I had told Freddy that I was sick but I didn't know him prior to this date and even though it was obvious that I was a dope addict I didn't want to scare him off with the magnitude of my illness at that moment. Like as if I would be going to do what I was about to do if I WASN'T an addict. But he knew and chose to ignore it maybe. It wouldn't be as fun to watch a film of some girl masturbating if you knew she was there under duress (of sorts).

I am not going to go into graphic detail about what happened while I was at his house but I will mention one thing. When I was dope sick (and it is something I have heard from men and women addicts alike) I could have an orgasm very easily. And it wasn't pleasant like you would think. Your body, when sick, is in a raw state and everything hurts. Orgasms too. So here I am at his house knowing I am going to get off in about 12 seconds and that he wasn't going to be satisfied with that. Not only did he make me continue by telling me he would give me more money but he told me I had to wait for HIM before I made myself finish. By the end of it I was shaking, had had about 10 orgasms and was a million times sicker than I had been when I got there. It was like each time sucked more life out of me. He also was asking me all sorts of sick questions on cam and he was about 30 years older than me. Makes me shiver when I think about it. I didn't have to touch him though - which is always a bonus.

He brought me back downtown after and I never saw him again. This was before the days of web cameras and all that but I can't completely ignore the idea that that tape is still out there somewhere.

I really don't care though, if I must be honest. And yes, Cinnamon watched the whole thing.

Dot Dash

I am going to Victoria for a couple of weeks but I will be back. Until then I leave you with this picture. Because I love him.